Beoulve Curse
by Marduk Kid
Summary: Balbanes goes through a troubling moment in his life. The word angst maybe a little strong to describe this, because it does have a kinda happy ending.


He rushed through the halls. The armor screamed through the empty hallways as he ran. He had just reached the status of Arc Knight but at what price? He concentrated on his advancement so much. He should have been with her more. Should have known she was ill and shouldn't be regretting this, he shouldn't fear the birth of possibly his last child. The thought chilled him through the armor he was wearing that had grown hot from the heat of running. He had lost one love before. What would stop this one from going as well?

The hallways were lit for his dash through the castle. The radiated path to the delivery room of the stone fortress. He knew her chances weren't very good and felt he should be with her in her last moments. Young Dycedarg was holding on to his younger brothers hand as they waited outside the room. Her screams barely passed the wooden barrier of a door.

Dycedarg looked at him and asked, "That woman is going to die, isn't she?"

He looked for some sort of emotion on the boy's face but couldn't find it and could only answer, "Probably." He looked at the handle of the door nervously.

The son said, "It's not going to burn you. Just go in." Normally he would reprimand his son for such insolence, but he knew what it looked like and couldn't deny the truth. "One more thing though." Dycedarg finally made eye contact with his father. His face was blank but tears had formed up in his eyes, "Mother died like this right? Only with him." His grip tightened on the hand of his younger brother who was clearly confused.

The young one cried out, "Mommy will die because of me?"

First he answered the small one, "No, of course not." He put his armored hand on his head gently. Then looked back to the older one and simply nodded. His expression grim, the boy clutched his brother's hand harder and a tear dropped on the side of his face. He was too young to remember her that well, but it was probably for his half-brother and new half-sibling he let the tear go. Growing up without your real mother was difficult to say the least.

The older boy sighed and wiped that one tear away, "Well, she is waiting for you. She won't die without you."

Normally that would sound heartless, but he knew better since his eldest son knew she wasn't his real mother and replied, "I'm glad, but you and your brother should go to bed." The two children bowed and left. Once again, he was stuck, blocked by this wooden, hinged wall with a handle. He couldn't bring himself to go in.

He heard the cries of a baby and all his inhibitions were gone. He rushed through the door as if it were nothing. A whitemage with her sleeves pulled back and arms covered in blood and other bodily fluids was holding a little crying bundle and slowly rocked it. The woman lay on the table barely breathing. He rushed to her, threw his gloves off, and squeezed her hand.

She gave a weak smile and admitted, "I can't even find the strength to open my eyes." Her words were staggered and forced.

He quieted her, "Shh. Don't try to talk, dear."

She didn't pay attention, "Is the baby okay?" She weakly grabbed his hand.

The whitemage replied, "It's a little girl. Everything seems to be fine. She came out perfectly." She handed it to the man, whom let go of his wife's hand.

He smiled at the baby, "She's beautiful. She has your eyes." He lied, the babies eyes were closed. This satisfied the woman, and she reached out for her lover. He handed the baby back to the whitemeage and grabbed her hand. Her breathing lessened and couldn't hold her arm up anymore. "Don't worry, I'm here."

He words were weak, and he leaned in to hear her, "Goodbye, love." The grim reaper had finally come. He knew it would happen, and apparently, she did too. He cried. He's only cried two other times in his life, the first when his parents had died and the second was his first wife. Those near him are doomed to death. He feared for his offspring, he, than, cried for them as well. Their fate to die early. He felt cursed. The Beoulve Curse he told himself. He damned Ajora for taking everyone but him. He pledged that she would be the last. That he would become strong enough to stop this from happening to his children.

Suddenly the door opened and his third child had come in, "What's momma doing?" The two year old stood there, confused as his father hesitated. He asked again, "What's momma doing?"

He didn't know how to answer the question. He wiped his face with his bare hands and said, "She's asleep. She's asleep forever."

The little boy was confused, "How long is forever?"

Balbanes left his last love and picked up the boy and began carrying him away, "She won't wake up little Ramza, ever." He tried to be as gentle as he could.

The little boy grew happy, "She must like her dream."

Balbanes smiled at this, "I bet she does," and closed the door behind him.

The funeral was to be the next day at night. It had threatened to rain, but they only got thunder and a light drizzle. He knew she was in heaven, so he tried to let it go as best he could.

Notes:I believe Ramza is roughly two years older than Alma, so I think he would have the ability to say and ask the questions he did. If not consider him bright for his age.


End file.
